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Presented  in  memory 

of 

Craven  L.  Betts 


OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


Over  the  Hills  of  Home 

and  Other  Poems 


BY 


LILIAN  LEVERIDGE 


NEW  YORK 
E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 

68 1  FIFTH  AVENUE 


COPYRIGHT,  igi8, 
BY  E.  P.  BUTTON  &  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PS 

3SZ3 


07 


TO  MOTHER 

There  shines  no  pearl  in  the  deep,  deep  sea, 

Mother  of  mine. 
So  fair,  so  rare  as  your  love  to  me, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 1 1 

THE  WAY  OF  THE  BRITISH     .     .     ,     .     .  16 

WOMAN'S  PART 20 

NUTTING 23 

A  WINTER'S  NIGHT 26 

NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 28 

SPRINGLAND 30 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH    ...  34 

MY  PHILOSOPHY 39 

WHAT'S  THE  USE  ? .  41 

TRIFLES 44 

THE  DREAMER 47 

THE  LITTLE  GREEN  GATE 49 

DAY  DREAMS 52 

IN  THE  TWILIGHT 54 

LOVE'S  MINISTRY 57 


PAGE 

THE  EASTER  WINDS 60 

VACATION  AT  GRANDMA'S 63 

A  LITTLE  BIT  OF  VERSE 67 

SYDNEY  CARTON 70 

A  SMILE  FROM  You 77 

BY  WIRELESS 78 

THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 81 

THE  NOONDAY  CHIMES 85 

MOTHER  OF  MINE 87 


[8] 


OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME* 

LADDIE,   little   laddie,    come  with  me 
over  the  hills, 
Where  blossom  the  white  May  lilies,  and  the 

dogwood  and  daffodils ; 
For  the  Spirit  of  Spring  is  calling  to  our  spir- 
its that  love  to  roam 

Over  the  hills  of  home,  laddie,  over  the  hills 
of  home. 

Laddie,  little  laddie,  here's  hazel  and 
meadow  rue, 

And  wreaths  of  the  rare  arbutus,  a-blowing 
for  me  and  you; 

And  cherry  and  bilberry  blossoms,  and  haw- 
thorn as  white  as  foam. 

We'll  carry  them  all  to  Mother,  laddie,  over 
the  hills  at  home. 

*  (Written  as  a  tribute  to  Corporal  Frank  E.  Leveridge, 
<who  died  in  France,  after  being  wounded  in  action,) 

[ii] 


OVER    THE    HILLS    OF   HOME 

Laddie,  little  laddie,  the  winds  have  many  a 

song, 
And  blithely  and  bold  they  whistle  to  us  as 

we  trip  along; 
But  your  own  little  song  is  sweeter,  your  own 

with  its  merry  trills; 
So,  whistle  a  tune  as  you  go,  laddie,  over  the 

windy  hills. 

Laddie,  little  laddie,  'tis  time  that  the  cows 

were  home. 
Can  you  hear  the  klingle-klangle  of  their  bell 

in  the  greenwood  gloam? 
Old  Rover  is  waiting,  eager  to  follow  the 

trail  with  you, 
Whistle  a  tune  as  you  go,  laddie,  whistle  a 

tune  as  you  go. 

Laddie,  little  laddie,  there's  a  flash  of  a  blue- 
bird's wing. 

O  hush!  If  we  wait  and  listen  we  may  hear 
him  carolling. 

[12] 


OVER    THE    HILLS    OF   HOME 

The  vesper  song  of  the  thrushes,  and  the 
plaint  of  the  whip-poor-wills — 

Sweet,  how  sweet  is  the  music,  laddie,  over 
the  twilit  hills. 


Brother,    little   brother,    your   childhood   is 

passing  by, 
And  the  dawn  of  a  noble  purpose  I  see  in 

your  thoughtful  eye. 
You  have  many  a  mile  to  travel  and  many  a 

task  to  do ; 
Whistle  a  tune  as  you  go,  laddie,  whistle  a 

tune  as  you  go. 

Laddie,  soldier  laddie,  a  call  comes  over  the 

sea, 
A  call  to  the  best  and  bravest  in  the  land  of 

liberty, 
To  shatter  the  despot's  power,  to  lift  up  the 

weak  that  fall. 
Whistle  a  song  as  you  go,  laddie,  to  answer 

your  country's  call. 

[13] 


OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 

Brother,  soldier  brother,  the  Spring  has  come 
back  again, 

But  her  voice  from  the  windy  hilltops  is  call- 
ing your  name  in  vain; 

For  never  shall  we  together  'mid  the  birds 
and  the  blossoms  roam 

Over  the  hills  of  home,  brother,  over  the 
hills  of  home. 

Laddie!     Laddie!     Laddie!     "Somewhere 

in  France"  you  sleep, 
Somewhere   'neath   alien   flowers   and   alien 

winds  that  weep. 
Bravely  you  marched  to  battle,  nobly  your 

life  laid  down. 
You  unto  death  were  faithful,  laddie;  yours 

is  the  victor's  crown. 

Laddie !  Laddie !  Laddie !  How  dim  is  the 
sunshine  grown, 

As  mother  and  I  together  speak  softly  in  ten- 
der tone ! 

[HI 


OVER  THE  HILLS  OF  HOME 

And  the  lips  that  quiver  and  falter  have  ever 

a  single  theme, 
As  we  list  for  your  dear,  lost  whistle,  laddie, 

over  the  hills  of  dream. 

Laddie,  beloved  laddie!  How  soon  should 
we  cease  to  weep 

Could  we  glance  through  the  golden  gateway, 
whose  keys  the  angels  keep! 

Yet  love,  our  love  that  is  deathless,  can  fol- 
low you  where  you  roam, 

Over  the  hills  of  God,  laddie,  the  beautiful 
hills  of  Home. 


[15] 


THE  WAY  OF  THE  BRITISH 

IT  isn't  the  way  of  the  British, 
In  the  fight  for  country  and  King, 
On  the  fair,  white  field  of  their  valor, 

The  shadow  of  shame  to  bring. 
There  isn't  a  lad  in  the  army, 

There  isn't  a  lad  on  the  sea, 
Would  dim  the  light  of  his  honor 
By  a  deed  of  infamy. 

It  isn't  the  way  of  Britain 

To  grasp  with  greedy  hand, 
And  hold  with  a  despot's  power, 

Domain  in  a  friendly  land. 
But  she  fights  for  ua  scrap  of  paper," 

She  dies  for  uan  old  colored  rag," 
When  the  one  is  her  word  of  promise, 

And  the  other  her  blood-stained  flag. 
[16] 


THE    WAY    OF    THE    BRITISH 

It  isn't  the  way  of  the  British, 

With  ruthless  hands  of  hate, 
The  priceless  things  of  a  nation 

To  plunder  and  desecrate. 
Not  'gainst  defenceless  women 

And  children  their  guns  are  turned; 
Not  'gainst  the  weak  and  fallen — 

That  isn't  the  way  they've  learned. 

It  isn't  the  way  of  the  British 

To  strike  like  the  heathen  hordes, 
To  torture  the  hapless  captives 

They  take  at  the  point  of  their  swords. 
That  was  never  the  way  with  Britain. 

Her  strength  is  the  strength  of  ten; 
For  her  sons  in  her  far-flung  warfare 

Fight  ever  like  gentlemen. 

There  were  thirty  or  more  of  our  gunners — 

It  seems  now  so  long  ago — 
Were  called  to  a  post  of  peril, 

In  the  path  of  the  furious  foe. 

[17] 


THE    WAY    OF    THE   BRITISH 

It  was  certain  death,  and  they  knew  it; 

But  the  valor  in  each  heart  burned. 
"Godu-by,  good-by  to  you,  fellows!" 

They  called — and  never  returned. 

Again  came  the  short,  sharp  summons ; 

And  there  dashed  through  the  sulphurous 

smoke, 
With  the  same  farewell  to  their  comrades, 

While  a  wreath  of  smile  outbroke — 
Thirty  to  follow  the  thirty; 

And  the  eager  ranks  closed  in. 
That  is  the  way  of  the  British. 

That  is  the  way  they  win. 

This  is  the  way  of  the  British — 

In  the  strength  of  their  righteous  cause, 
Upheld  by  the  hosts  of  heaven, 

They  strike  for  their  King  and  laws. 
From  what  do  they  shrink — our  soldiers? 

They  may  lose  in  the  fearful  fray 
Their  lives,  but  never  their  honor, 

Who  fight  in  the  British  way. 
[18] 


THE  W AY  OF  THE  BRITISH 

Then  here's  to  you,  lads  in  the  army, 

And  here's  to  you,  lads  on  the  sea; 
To  your  hands  that  are  strong  and  steady, 

To  your  hearts  that  are  true  and  free! — 
Though  long  it  be  ere  the  dawning, 

It  cometh  at  last — the  day, 
When  all  that  you've  fought  for,  bled  for, 

You  shall  win  in  the  British  way. 


WOMAN'S  PART 

KNEEL  down,  kneel  down,  ye  mothers, 
Kneel  down,  ye  sisters  and  wives, 
And  plead  with  the  God  of  Battles 
To  spare  your  loved  ones'  lives. 
Pray  for  your  stricken  sisters 

Who  wait  by  the  lonely  hearth, 
Whence  the  glow  is  failed  and  the  gladness 

fled, 
And  the  light  is  lost  from  earth. 

Kneel  down,  kneel  down! — for  the  conflict 

Grows  deadly  and  fierce  and  long, 
And  the  hearts  of  the  foe  are  hateful, 

And  the  arms  of  the  foe  are  strong. 
Yet  the  Judge  of  the  whole  earth  giveth 

The  battle  to  whom  He  will. 
Weep  on,  ye  mothers — if  ye  must  weep — 

Till  He  whispers,  "Peace,  be  still !" 
[20] 


WOMAN'S  PART 

Kneel  down,  kneel  down ! — There  are  terrors 

That  stalk  in  the  noonday  light; 
There  are  scalding  drops  of  anguish 

That  fall  in  the  fearful  night, 
Where  homes  are  ablaze  like  beacons, 

Where  the  winds  are  a-moan  with  pain, 
Where  your  sons  and  your  brothers  stand  to 
fight 

'Mid  the  drip  of  the  warm  red  rain. 

Kneel  down,  kneel  down !    They  are  thinking 

This  moment,  perchance,  of  you. 
They  see  you  bow  in  the  silence, 

Alone  'mid  the  starlit  dew. 
They — they  must  stand  at  the  cannon, 

They  must  look  to  the  gatling  gun : 
But  the  might  of  your  prayer  upholds  them 
there 

Till  the  field  is  fought  and  won. 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  ye  mothers, 

Ye  sisters  and  wives,  arise ! 
To  the  wide,  ripe  fields  of  labor 

Lift  up,  lift  up  your  eyes ! 

[21] 


WOMAN'S  PART 

There  are  suffering  ones  by  thousands 
Your  ministering  hands  may  bless, 

And  desolate  mourners  that  weep  alone, 
Widows  and  fatherless. 

To  pray,  to  hope,  to  succor, 

To  comfort  the  sick  at  heart, 
This  is  your  field  of  battle, 

This  is  your  worn  n's  part. 
Then  pray  while  ye  toil  and  suffer, 

Yes,  weep,  if  weep  ye  will, 
Till,  quelling  to  quiet  the  clashing  arms, 

Comes  the  whisper,  "Peace,  be  still!" 


[22] 


NUTTING 

1WANT  to  go  nutting  to-day,  mother. 
There's  a  hint  of  frost  in  the  air, 
Though  the  sun  is  spreading  a  cloth  of  gold 

On  the  uplands,  rich  and  fair. 
Young  voices  call  that  the  brown  nuts  fall 

And  the  squirrel  scolds  and  grieves. 
Let  us  haste  away  to  the  woods  to-day, 
In  the  Moon  of  Falling  Leaves. 

I  want  to  go  nutting  to-day,  mother, — 

O  mother!  'tis  only  a  dream. 
'Tis  many  a  mile  to  the  hazel  copse 

On  the  bank  of  the  silver  stream. 
'Tis  many  a  year  since  I  wandered  there, 

Where  the  whistling  winds  are  wild — 
As  wild  as  they,  in  that  far-off  day, 

Was  I  as  a  little  child. 
[23] 


NUTTING 

Should  I  go  nutting  to-day,  mother, 

I  must  follow  the  path  alone — 
The  path  that  winds  by  the  hazel  copse 

And  down  by  the  mossy  stone ; 
For  the  ringing  beat  of  the  boyish  feet 

That  clambered  the  rocky  hill 
Falls  never  again  on  field  or  plain, 

Or  the  woodlands  lone  and  still. 

O,  where  are  the  boys  to-day,  mother, 

Our  boys  so  bonnie  and  bright, 
The  lads  who  gathered  the  hazel  nuts 

In  the  golden  Autumn  light? 
For  over  the  hill  floats  the  echo  still 

Of  laughter  light  and  gay, 
While  alone  at  the  gate  I  watch  and  wait — 

They  tarry  so  long  away. 

They  heard  the  call  of  the  bugles,  mother, 
And  the  rallying  roll  of  drums. 

O,  who  can  stay  in  the  hazel  copse 
When  the  call  to  a  hero  comes? 

[24] 


NUTTING 

One  marches  to-day  'neath  the  colors  gay 

To  a  far-away  field  of  fight; 
And  the  warfare  of  one  is  over  and  done. 

He  rests  on  the  hills  of  light. 

I  want  to  go  nutting  to-day,  mother, 

On  the  hills  where  the  winds  are  free; 
But  only  the  Spirit  of  Silence  there 

Will  walk  and  will  talk  with  me. 
For  the  laughter  of  yore  awakes  no  more 

On  the  path  where  the  dim  light  weaves 
A  web  of  dreams  by  the  silver  streams, 

In  the  Moon  of  Falling  Leaves. 


[25] 


A  WINTER'S  NIGHT 

OH !  the  rare  delight  of  a  winter's  night, 
When  drifted  snows  gleam  whitely, 
When   sleigh-bells   chime   with   wild,    sweet 

rhyme, 
And  mirthful  lips  laugh  lightly ! 


How  pure  and  clear  is  the  frosty  air 
From  far-off  hilltops  blowing! 

What  joy  it  brings  to  the  voice  that  sings, 
What  light  to  bright  eyes  glowing! 


Night's  thousand  eyes  from  sapphire  skies 
With  glances  soft  are  beaming, 

And  all  aglow  in  the  fields  of  snow 
Are  countless  jewels  gleaming. 
[26] 


A  WINTER'S  NIGHT 


Come  out  to-night  to  the  hills  alight, 

To  forests  still  and  hoary, 
Where  moonbeams  play  o'er  the  shining  way 

And  bathe  the  world  in  glory. 


[27] 


NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

IN  yonder  greening  deeps  a  veery  voices 
His  plaintive  note  that  almost  thrills  to 

tears, 

So  sweet  it  is.     Could  I  but  learn  that  music, 
This  harp  of  mine  should  echo  down  the 
years. 

Ye  wildwood  blossoms,  ye  are  poems  written 
In  God's  great  wonder-book  by  His  own 

hand. 

'Tis  yours  to  teach  the  happiest  of  lessons 
In  words  that  all  who  read  may  under- 
stand. 

Blue  Violets  in  dewy  mosses  hiding, 

And  breathing  peerless  perfumes  on  the 
wind, 

Ye  tell  me  there  is  blessedness  in  shadow, 
That  lowly,  simple  souls  may  surely  find. 

[28] 


NEAR  TO  NATURE'S  HEART 

Gay  Columbines,  ye  say  that  life  is  lovely, 
And  brimming  o'er  with  brightness  even 
yet 

Laughing  ye  lift  your  ruby  cups  of  honey 
And  bid  me  cease  to  murmur  and  to  fret. 

Fair  Dogwood,  hanging  garlands  by  the  way- 
side, 
Rare    Honeysuckle,    leaning    from    your 

bowers, 
And  Hawthorn,  scattering  snowflakes  on  the 

breezes, 
Ye  gladden  with  your  beauty  all  the  hours. 

Ye  thousand,  thousand  silver  stars  that 
spangle 

This  emerald  firmament  of  leaf  and  blade, 
Ye  bid  me  lift  my  eyes,  and  bravely  trusting, 

Go  forward  unashamed  and  unafraid. 

Dear  Mother  Nature,  leaning  on  thy  bosom, 
I  half  forget  the  things  that  made  me  sad. 

Out  in  the  world  of  toil  and  strife,  be  with 

me: 
Teach  me  to  love,  to  hope,  and  to  be  glad. 

[29] 


SPRINGLAND 

ALL  the  flowers  are  sleeping,  all  the  trees 
are  bare; 

All  the  little  fairy  winds  that  wandered  whis- 
pering there, 

Golden  sunbeams  glancing,  happy  birds  at 
play, 

All  have  flown  toward  the  Southland,  far  and 
far  away. 

Yet  in  dreams  glory-gleams  drift  across  the 
snow. 

Faces  fair  meet  me  here,  loves  of  long  ago. 

Once  again  I  wander  down  the  leafy  lane, 
Where  the  woodthrush  and  the  robin  sing 

their  morning  strain. 

Once  again  I  linger,  gathering  violets  blue, 
Waiting  in  the  woodland  pathway,  dear  old 

friend,  for  you. 


SPRINGLAND 


Buds    unfold    hearts    of    gold,    fresh    with 

fragrant  dew, 
While  I  wait.     You  are  late;  what  is  keep- 


ing you  ? 


List !  the  leaflets  whisper,  robins  carol  shrill, 
Now  I  hear  your  lilting  laughter   floating 

down  the  hill. 

Books  a-swinging  gaily,  sun  hat  all  awry, 
Comes  my  merry,  witching  schoolmate,  morn- 
ing in  her  eye. 
Wildflower  grace  lights  her  face.     All  the 

rosy  spring, 

Everywhere  passing  fair,  knows  no  sweeter 
thing. 

"Mollie,  I  have  waited  long  for  you,"  I  cry. 
"Have  you  solved  the  Euclid  problems?  Did 

you  find  Delhi, 

Fuji-san  and  Klondike,  Fife  and  Innisfree? 
Though  I  toiled  for  hours  and  hours  they 

still  eluded  me." 


SPRINGLAND 

Hark!  the  bell  down  the  dell  rings  a  sum- 
mons sweet. 

Swift  we  run.  Shade  and  sun  flash  beneath 
our  feet. 

Silent  stands  the  schoolhouse  'neath  its  shel- 
tering trees; 

Softly  through  the  open  window  conies  the 
drone  of  bees. 

We  are  bees  that  gather  honey-drops  to 
store — 

Golden  honey-drops  of  wisdom  from  the  old 
world's  lore. 

O  how  fleet  are  the  sweet  school  days!  All 
too  soon 

They  are  sped,  youth  has  fled,  morning  melts 
to  noon. 

Wayward,    laughter-loving,    are    my    mate 

and  I. 
He,  the  grave  and  kindly  master,  looks  with 

patient  sigh 

[32] 


SPRIN  GLAND 

Oft  toward  our  corner — never  once  to  chide. 
In  our  wilful   way   we  love   him, — teacher, 

friend  and  guide. 
Yet  we  prove  not  our  love.     Does  he  know 

or  care? 
Hush!  the  day  dies  away,  and  the  night  is 

near. 

Night,  and  snowy  silence,  moonbeams  pale 
and  chill ! 

Night — and  not  a  wildwood  blossom  on  the 
wintry  hill! 

You  have  passed  before  me,  loves  of  school- 
days dear, 

To  the  sunny  bowers  of  Springland,  flower- 
clad  and  fair. 

Some  glad  day,  far  away,  each  dear  face  I'll 
see. 

I  am  late — will  you  wait  on  the  hills  for  me  ? 


[33] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

BELOVED  bird,  I  hear  thee  calling,  call- 
ing, 

Where  sun-kist  morning  smiles. 
A  very  shower  of  liquid  music  falling 

Adown  the  forest  aisles 
Rains  radiantly  upon  my  spirit.     Lightly 

The  dewy  gates  of  sleep 
Fold   back.     I   enter  where   the    sunbeams 

brightly 
Tryst  with  the  roses  keep. 


Beyond  the  garden  and  beyond  the  meadows, 

Beyond  the  breezy  hill, 
Through  quivering  lights  and  dusky  violet 
shadows, 

I  follow,  follow  still; 

[34] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

Till    here,    where    never    human    footfall 

soundeth, 

'Mid  breath  of  scented  bloom, 
Where  heaven's  peace  and  earth's  warm  love 

aboundeth, 
I  find  thy  hermit  home. 

High  up  amid  the  green  boughs  swaying, 

swinging, 

Thy  drowsy  nestlings  dream, 
Weaving  with  silver  splendors  of  thy  singing 

The  morning's  golden  beam. 
O  dwellers  of  the  glowing  dawn,  what  sweet- 
ness 

Of  lullaby  you  list ! 

Cradled  and  folded  fast  in  love's  complete- 
ness, 
Wind-rocked,  song-soothed,  star-kist! 

How   lovely    is    the    world   where    Nature 
kneeleth 

With  folded  hands  to  pray! 
All  loveliness  thy  clear  songshine  revealeth; 

The  blue  heavens  far  away 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

Are  leaning  lower,  winds  ahush  are  listening, 

And  all  the  flowers  rejoice, 
With  tears  of  gladness  on  their  faces  glisten- 
ing, 

Blest  bird,  to  hear  thy  voice. 


Those  fluted  notes,  so  pure,  so  richly  mel- 
lowed, 

How  silvery  they  flow ! 
A  pause,  a  hush,  and  then  a  peerless  prelude 

In  tender  tremolo — 
A  soft  song-whisper — ushers  in  the  glory 

Of  thy  sublimer  strain, 
The  song  that  tells  thy  passionate  love  story 

Again  and  yet  again. 


Immersed  within  that  flowing  flood  of  rap- 
ture, 

A  baptism  divine, 

Some  Eden-gleam  my  spirit  may  recapture, 
Whose  glories  round  thee  shine. 
[36] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

Some  little  measure  of  thy  inspiration, 

Light  not  of  land  nor  sea — 
The  blessed,  kindly  light  of  consecration! — 

Thy  music  showers  on  me. 


Yet  though  thy  matin  song  is  keyed  to  glad- 
ness, 

Joy  breathes  in  every  note, 
Thy  hymn  at  even  is  athrill  with  sadness 

That  trembles  in  thy  throat. 
Hast  thou,  sweet  bird,  some  unfulfilled  de- 
sire, 

Some  longing,  wild  and  vain, 
That,  howsoe'er  thy  throbbing  hopes  aspire, 

Thou  canst  not  yet  attain? 

O  forest  child,  no  dream  that's  worth  the 

dreaming 

But  some  day  will  come  true. 
Then  let  us  sing  while  life's  glad  morning 

gleaming 
Inspires  our  love  anew. 

[37] 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WOOD  THRUSH 

Yes,  we  will  sing,  unwearied  and  unresting. 

Who  knows  what  bliss  may  wait 
For  you  and  me,  dear  comrade  of  my  quest- 
ing, 

Beyond  the  sunset  gate? 


[38] 


MY  PHILOSOPHY 

SAY !     I'm  glad  I'm  livin'  such  a  glorious 
day. 
Makes  me  feel  like  dancin'  two-steps  all  the 

way; 

Makes  me  feel  as  rich  as  any  millionaire, 
With  a  sure  life  interest  in  a  world  so  fair. 

Diamonds  in  the  dew-drops,  sunshine  drop- 
pin'  gold, 

Better'n  all  the  nuggets  Klondike  mountains 
hold; 

Sky  a  sea  of  azure,  one  white  cloud  afloat, 

Sailin'  soft  and  airy  like  a  fairy's  boat. 

Lovely   flowers   a-flingin'    perfumes   to   the 

breeze; 

Little  winds  a-quiver  in  the  leafy  trees; 
Little  birds  s-singin'  like  they'd  never  stop — 
Joy  as  light  as  bubbles  comes  right  to  the  top. 

[39] 


MY  PHILOSOPHY 

Bumble    bees    a-buzzin'    in    the    buckwheat 

flowers, 

Haulin'  home  the  honey  in  the  shinin'  hours ; 
Rivulets  a-lispin',  as  they  flow  along, 
Happy  little  secrets,  trills  of  summer  song. 
All   day  long  the   gladness,   loveliness   and 

light, 
Then   the    starry   stillness    o'    the    welcome 

night; 
All   life   long  the   blessin's    scattered   from 

God's  hand, 
Then   the   rest   remainin*    in   the   Promised 

Land. 

Heart  o'  mine,  be  joyful ! — Ain't  no  call  for 
tears. 

Garner  up  the  sunbeams  all  along  the  years. 

Souls  that  seek  for  brightness  find  it  mani- 
fold. 

Heart  o'  mine,  be  joyful!  Gather  in  the 
gold. 


[40] 


WHAT'S  THE  USE 

YT  THAT'S  the  use,  dear  heart,  of  sighing 

T  ?        Just  because  the  skies  are  gray, 
And  the  bright  things  that  you  dream  of 

Never  seem  to  come  your  way? 
Storms  and  shadows  make  the  sunshine 

Afterward  more  clear  and  bright. 
Joy  of  dawn  can  only  follow 

After  dreary  glooms  of  night. 


What's  the  use  of  idly  wishing 

For  a  soft  and  easy  time? 
They  who  gain  the  sunny  summits 

Are  not  carried  there — they  climb. 
Man  was  made  for  strong  endeavor. 

Rich  and  rare  the  recompense 
That's  awaiting  grit  and  daring, 

Tempered  well  with  common  sense. 

[41] 


WHAT'S  THE  USE 

What's  the  use  of  fuss  and  fretting 

When  the  world  seems  going  wrong? 
Time  will  smooth  out  all  the  tangles 

In  the  knotted  skein  ere  long. 
Ever  in  the  keenest  conflict 

Worry's  on  the  losing  side. 
Follow  faith,  whose  voice  of  quiet 

Safe  to  victory  will  guide. 

What's  the  use  of  fondly  dreaming 

Of  the  great  things  you  would  do, 
Scorning  little,  lowly  duties, 

Day  by  day  that  call  for  you  ? 
By  the  path  of  slight  endeavor 

Honor  cometh  not — but  such 
As  are  faithful  in  the  little 

May  be  trusted  with  the  much. 

What's  the  use  of  weakly  yielding 
To  a  foolish  fit  of  "blues"? 

Whistling's  better  far  than  weeping — 
You  can  whistle  if  you  choose. 

[42] 


WHAT'S  THE  USE 

Wherefore  magnify  your  troubles? 

Wherefore  minimize  your  hope, 
Viewing  virtues  through  the  wrong  end 

Of  Love's  mighty  telescope? 

What's  the  use  of  pensive  pining 

For  the  Alpine  edelweiss, 
While  about  your  feet  are  blowing 

Flowers  as  fair  at  lesser  price? 
When  you've  used  up  all  the  sweetness 

That  along  your  path  is  shed, 
Angel  hands  will  surely  scatter 

Brighter  blessings  on  your  head. 

What's  the  use  of  dull  despairing 

When  you've  fought  so  hard  and  failed? 
After  countless  disappointments 

Heights  of  glory  oft  are  scaled. 
Obstacles,  mistakes  and  failures 

Stepping  stones  may  prove  to  you. 
Courage,  then!     Nor  faint,  nor  falter 

Till  you  win  your  Waterloo. 

[43] 


TRIFLES 

IT  was  only  a  kindly  greeting 
And  the  grip  of  a  warm,  strong  hand 
As  I  faltered) — a  friendless  stranger — 

At  the  gate  of  an  unknown  land ; 
But  the  light  of  a  star  shone  clearly 

Through  the  dusk  of  the  twilight  gray; 
And  my  heart  was  a-thrill  with  music 
That  night  as  I  knelt  to  pray. 

It  was  only  a  gift  of  flowers, 

As  I  passed  with  weary  tread 
Where  she  stood,  in  the  summer  gloaming, 

In  the  midst  of  her  garden  bed: 
But  the  breath  of  those  bright,  fresh  blos- 
soms, 

And  the  smile  in  her  soul-lit  eyes, 
Kindled  hope  in  my  shadowed  spirit, 

And  filled  me  with  sweet  surprise. 

[44] 


TRIFLES 

It  was  only  a  little  letter 

In  the  tremulous  lines  of  a  child; 
But  it  silenced  the  sigh  of  a  heart-ache, 

And  my  burden  of  care  beguiled : 
For  it  said  I  was  not  forgotten, 

Though  our  ways  were  wide  apart; 
And  I  sang  with  tender  gladness, 

For  the  love  of  that  little  heart. 

It  was  only  a  pale  pressed  blossom 

From  haunts  where  I  used  to  stray; 
But  it  brought  me  a  tender  token 

Of  love  from  the  Faraway: 
And  I  heard  once  more  the  sighing 

Of  the  pines  by  the  limpid  lake, 
When  those  fragrant  rose-tipped  petals 

I  kissed  for  old  time's  sake. 


Mere  trifles,  long  forgotten! — 
Yet  a  sweetness  still  they  bring, 

For  to  me  they  were  chords  of  music 
Whose  echoes  like  harp-notes  ring. 
[45] 


TRIFLES 

And  the  silence  of  memory's  hall-ways 
Grows  sweet  as  the  years  grow  long 

For  love,  is  it  not  immortal? 
And  kindness  a  deathless  song? 


[46] 


THE  DREAMER 

THE  great  life  passions,  burning  love 
and  hate, 
In   the  great   world  strive   mightily   for 

power. 

Mine  are  the  little  loves  by  Nature  nursed — 
The   bird  on  wing,   the  blossom   in  the 
bower. 

The  winds  that  wander  from  the  far-off  hills 
Bring  me  a  thousand  messages.    The  wave 

That  laps  at  evening  on  the  twilit  shore 
Whispers  to  me  in  pensive  tones  and  grave. 

The  rill  that  ripples  on  its  pebbly  way 
Brings  me  a   gift  of  laughter,   low  and 

sweet. 
The  forest  leaves,  they  clap  their  hands  for 

me, 
And  all  their  little  summer  songs  repeat. 

[47] 


THE  DREAMER 

I   share  the   brown   bee's   perfumed   honey 
dew; 

My  spirit  dances  with  the  butterfly; 
To  me  the  cricket  on  his  violin 

Plays  all  night  long  a  lilting  lullaby. 

Strange  melodies  I  hear  'mid  pine  and  fir — • 
Rare,    fragmentary    notes    from    heaven 

adrift, 

That  floating,  zephyr-wafted,  'mid  the  blue, 
On  frail  dream-wings  my  listening  spirit 
lift. 

Perchance  beyond  thj  sunset  and  the  dawn, 
Amid  the  symphonies  of  seraph-song, 

And  deathless  roses,  I  at  last  may  find 
The  warmer,  closer  love  for  which  I  long. 


[48] 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  GATE 

AWAY  from  the  stress  of  the  city, 
And  to  ceaseless,  echoing  sound 
Of  tireless  toiling  and  spinning, 

And  pleasure — a  dizzying  round — 
With  never  a  haunting  whisper 

Of  duties  that  press  and  wait, 
We  Fold  our  hands  in  the  noontide, 
And  dream,  by  a  little  green  gate. 

The  sun  glows  clear  in  the  heavens — 

A  luminous  sapphire  dome — 
And  filters  gold  through  the  maple 

Where  a  robin  has  built  her  home. 
Comes  rippling  over  and  over 

Her  "Cheerily,  cheer  up,  cheer! 
'Tis  the  season  of  roses  and  clover — 

O  cheer  up,  cheerily,  dear!11 

[49] 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  GATE 

In  a  fragrant  blossoming  locust 

A  golden  oriole  swings 
Abreast  of  the  frolicksome  breezes, 

He  preens  his  beautiful  wings. 
A  catbird  hides  in  the  cedars, 

And  out  of  his  dim  retreat 
He  pours,  like  a  lovesome  poet, 

A  rollicking  rhyme  and  sweet. 

Each  pause  in  the  birds'  glad  chorus 

Is  filled  by  the  soft,  low  sigh 
And  whisper  of  leaves  and  grasses, 

As  the  winds  go  wandering  by — 
Wild  winds  from  the  blue  hills  yonder, 

That  watch  by  the  purple  tide, 
Where  centuries  pass  in  silence, 

And  the  dreams  of  the  years  abide. 

Far  off,  where  the  heart  of  the  city 
Beats  high  with  the  pulse  of  life, 

There's  a  call  to  the  ranks  of  endeavor, 
There's  a  challenge  for  ceaseless  strife. 

[50] 


THE  LITTLE  GREEN  GATE 

Away  from  the  blossom-sweet  stillness 
There  are  duties  that  throng  and  wait: 

But  Confidence  walks  with  Courage 
While  we  rest  by  the  little  green  gate. 


DAY  DREAMS 

A  FAR-OFF  light 
Of  things  that  are  yet  to  be, 
Like  a  pale  star-gleam  on  the  wings  of  dream, 
Floats  through  the  dark  to  me. 

A  dream  of  Faith 

That  shines  through  the  mists  of  years, 
Till  the  long,  long  night  is  lost  in  light, 

And  laughter  blooms  from  tears. 

A  dream  of  Hope 

That  lives  though  all  else  be  dead, — 
Hope  crowned  at  last  when  the  pain  is  past, 

And  the  last  of  the  tears  are  shed. 

A  dream  of  Love, 

The  Love  that  cannot  fail, — 
For  whatever  befall,  Love  conquers  all, 

And  Death  shall  not  prevail. 

[52] 


DAY  DREAMS 

Will  my  dream  come  true  ? 

Some  day  on  a  far-off  shore 
Will  Death  lie  dead  on  his  shrouded  bed, 

And  Sorrow  be  no  more  ? 

Some  glad  spring  dawn 

Will  there  blossom  peace  from  pain? 
Will  the  hidden  good  be  understood, 

And  lost  souls  found  again? 

Yes!     For  I  know 

That  only  the  good  can  live. 
On  that  morning  fair,  sometime,  somewhere, 

All  else  will  Love  forgive. 


[53] 


IN  THE  TWILIGHT 

AT  eve  in  the  hush  of  the  twilight 
We  sit  when  the  day  is  done, 
Watching  the  purpling  shadows 

That  steal  from  the  sinking  sun. 
And  the  murmur  and  tender  cadence 

Of  a  loved  old  song  to-night 
Resounds  from  the  keys  of  the  organ 
Agleam  in  the  mellow  light. 

A  tender  peace 

Steals  over  my  soul, 
A  sweet  release 

From  the  world's  control; 
While  soft  light  wreathes 

With  the  shadows  dim, 
And  the  silence  breathes 

With  a  sweet  old  hymn. 

[54] 


IN  THE  TWILIGHT 

The  day  has  been  long  and  weary, 

But  the  evening  at  home  brings  rest. 
The  world  is  shut  out  with  its  worries, 

The  heart  is  no  more  opprest; 
And  cares,  like  the  dews  of  morning, 

Are  lifted  and  swept  away 
By  the  magic  spell  of  music, 

As  you  sit  in  the  twilight  and  play. 

Soft,  soft,  again 

Through  the  silence  dim 
Floats  the  tender  strain 

Of  an  old  sweet  hymn. 
'Mid  the  amber  gleam 

Of  the  sinking  sun, 
When  dreams  we  dream 

When  the  day  is  done ! 

O  beautiful  hour  of  the  twilight, 

All  vocal  with  sacred  song! 
To-night  through  the  shrouding  shadows 

How  sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  throng! 

[55] 


IN  THE  TWILIGHT 

No  dreams  like  those  dreams  unfading, 
No  music  with  power  to  please 

Like  the  old  airs  that  trembled  and  floated 
From  the  yellow  old  ivory  keys  I 

Mellow  and  sweet, 

When  the  day  is  done 
And  shadows  meet 

With  the  sinking  sun, 
Soft,  soft  and  low, 

Through  the  shadows  dim, 
The  echoes  flow 

Of  a  dear  old  hymn. 


[56] 


LOVE'S  MINISTRY 

RUDELY  cradled  in  a  manger, 
Sweetly  sleeps  a  little  Child. 
O'er  Him  bends  a  maiden  Mother, 

Lowly,  lovely,  undefiled. 
Star-led  sages  own  His  kingship; 

Gifts  they  bring  on  bended  knee. 
What  is  there  that  I  may  offer 
Him  Who  left  His  throne  for  me? 

Now  with  gracious  touch  of  healing 

See  Him  cheer  the  sick,  the  sad, 
From  the  morn  until  the  even 

Making  countless  mourners  glad. 
He  is  Friend  of  all  the  friendless; 

Sweet  His  loving  smile  I  see. 
What  of  service  may  I  offer 

Him  Who  daily  blesseth  me? 

[57] 


LOVE'S  MINISTRY 

Lo!  at  midnight  in  the  garden 

Kneels  alone  the  Son  of  God; 
Crimson  drops  of  awful  anguish 

Darkly  dew  the  blossomed  sod. 
"Must  I  drink  this  cup,  O  Father?" — 

This  His  agonizing  plea — 
"Not  My  will,  but  Thine."     My  Saviour 

Drained  those  bitter  dregs — for  me. 

Lifted  up  'twixt  earth  and  heaven 

On  the  cruel  cross  of  shame 
Hangs  the  Christ.     For  the  redemption 

Of  our  ruined  world  He  came : 
But  they  crucified  Him,  nailing 

Hands  that  blessed  them  to  the  tree. 
Yet  He  cried,  "Forgive  them,  Father." 

Dying  thus,  He  prayed  for  me. 

Easter  dawns  in  peerless  glory, 

Flower  fragrance  fills  the  air. 
Christ  hath  burst  the  gloomy  portals 

Of  the  grave.     The  angels  fair 
[58] 


LOVE'S  MINISTRY 

Tell  the  world  the  wondrous  tidings, 

"He  is  risen.     Come  and  see 
Where  He  lay."     The  glorious  Victor 

Vanquished  sin  and  death  for  me. 

Hark!     I  hear  His  sweet  voice  calling 

O'er  the  silence  long  and  deep 
Of  the  ages:     "Dost  thou  love  Me? 

Feed  My  lambs  and  feed  My  sheep. 
From  the  fold  My  lost  ones  wander ; 

Seek  them  as  I  sought  for  thee. 
Lead    them,    lift    them,    bless    them,    love 
them — 

And  ye  do  it  unto  Me." 


[591 


THE  EASTER  WINDS 

THE  little  winds  of  dawning, 
Long  centuries  ago, 
Went  straying  in  a  garden 
With  bursting  buds  aglow. 
A  wondrous  tale  they  whispered 

Of  One  Who  loved,  Who  died 
For  men  whose  hatred  pierced  Him 
In  hands  and  feet  and  side. 

Bright  angels  told  His  story; 

The  winds  caught  up  the  song; 
On  viewless  wings  forever 

They  bear  the  strain  along. 
The  flowers  await  His  coming; 

For  love  of  Him  they  bloom — 
The  fadeless  Rose  of  Sharon 

That  blossomed  from  the  tomb. 

[60] 


THE  EASTER  WINDS 

O  little  winds  of  Easter 

That  blow  amid  the  hills, 
With  lily  perfume  laden 

And  breath  of  daffodils, 
Go,  blow  across  the  ocean, 

And  carry  to  "our  boys,11 
Our  truest  and  our  dearest, 

A  gift  of  Easter  joys — 

The  sweetness  of  the  blossoms, 

The  music  of  the  bells, 
That,  hour  by  hour  unwearied, 

The  glad  evangel  tells) — 
Of  life  that  blooms  unfading, 

Of  love  that  cannot  die, 
Of  rest  and  peace  abiding 

Beyond  our  shrouding  sky. 

O  viewless  Easter  angels 

That  wander  round  the  world, 
Where,  reeking  red  with  carnage, 

The  bolts  of  hate  are  hurled, 
[61] 


THE  EASTER  WINDS 

Where,  rank  on  rank,  the  crosses 

Stand  silent  on  the  hill, 
Go,  plant  the  amaryllis, 

The  rose,  the  daffodil. 

Then  all  the  winds  of  Easter 

Shall  bear  upon  their  wings 
To  wounded  hearts  the  essence 

Of  all  life's  sweetest  things. 
^'The  Lord  is  risen !"  shall  echo 

From  shore  to  farthest  shore, 
And  Love  shall  reign  eternal, 

And  pain  shall  be  no  more. 


[62] 


VACATION  AT  GRANDMA'S 

ALL  in  the  blue  of  the  summer  day, 
From  morn  till  the  twilight  dewy, 
Tiresome  lessons  all  put  away, 
Three  dear  laddies  keep  holiday — 
Henry  and  Jim  and  Louis. 

O  it  is  joy,  pure  joy,  to  be  free 
From  the  thrall  of  examinations. 

This  is  the  cry  of  the  laddies  three : 

"Holidays  are  the  days  for  me. 
Hurrah  for  the  glad  vacations!11 

Dangling  a  worm  in  the  woodland  stream 

To  tempt  the  foolish  fishes; 
Roaming  the   fields  where   the   ripe    fruits 

gleam — 
"Say,  with  Grandma^  sugar  and  cream 

Strawberries  are  delicious!11 

[63] 


VACATION  AT  GRANDMA'S 

Somewhere  the  gray  rocks,  grim  and  old, 
Are  purple  with  huckleberries. 

Somewhere  the  hazelnuts  turn  to  gold ; 

Somewhere  bubbles  a  spring,  ice-cold; 
Somewhere  are  crimson  cherries. 

Somewhere  the  painted  trilliums  grow, 
And  the  bluebells  are  a-blowing; 

Somewhere  are  windflowers,  white  as  snow. 

Where?      You    must    ask    the    boys — they 

know 
All  that  is  worth  the  knowing. 

Ever  a  new  delight  distills 

As  the  morning  buds  in  beauty. 
Mirthful  music  of  laughter  trills 
Up  from  the  valleys,  over  the  hills — 
Joy  is  the  day's  one  duty. 

Archery  contests  are  on  to-day. 

Yon  arrow,  how  swift  it  wingeth 
Over  the  roof-tree,  up  and  away, 
Up  where  the  green  boughs  swing  and  sway, 

Up  where  the  robin  singeth. 

[64] 


VACATION  AT  GRANDMA'S 

"What  are  you  doing,  my  laddies  three? 

Your  laughter  rings  so  merry." 
"Skinning  a  woodchuck  to  cook  for  tea. 
Have   some?"     "No  thanks,  Jim,  not  for 
me — 

Though  it  is  tempting,  very!" 

Skies  grow  gray  and  a  deluge  pours. 

Hurrah  for  a  thrilling  story 
Of  strange  adventures  on  far-off  shores, 
Hidden  treasure,  and  wrecks  and  wars, 

Valor  and  fame  and  glory! 

Books  in  plenty  at  Grandma's  wait 
For  the  music  of  summer  showers. 

Pass  right  in  through  the  story  gate; 

Find  and  follow  your  soul's  true  mate, 
Gather  the  dreamland  flowers. 

Vacation  comes  to  an  end  too  soon. 

Farewell  to  the  bracing  breezes! 
Yet,  if  all  days  held  the  breath  of  June, 
If  life  were  sung  to  a  holiday  tune, 

Would  it  be  sure  to  please  us? 

[65] 


VACATION  AT  GRANDMA'S 

No  I     For  I  know  of  the  holiday  song 

The  true  boy  spirit  wearies. 
Sure  am  I  you  will  yearn  ere  long, 
Yearn  to  march  with  the  brave  and  strong. 

Here's  good  luck  to  you,  dearies  1 


[66] 


A  LITTLE  BIT  OF  VERSE 

IT  may  be  early,  ere  the  morn  has  lost  its 
crimson  flush, 
Or  'mid  the  noonday  clamor,  or  the  fragrant 

vesper  hush; 
Sometime  before  the  hours  of  light  their  tale 

of  toil  rehearse, 

I  seek  a  treasured  volume  for  a  little  bit  of 
verse. 

When  Keats  or  noble  Tennyson  a  rhythmic 

stanza  sings, 
I  bathe  my  soul  in  beauty  and  forget  life's 

mundane  things. 
In  Browning's  mine  I  deeply  delve  for  grains 

of  golden  ore, 
And   Ingelow   sets   my   feet   in   paths  they 

never  trod  before. 

[67] 


A  LITTLE  BIT  OF  VERSE 

I  honor  them,  the  mighty  ones,  the  laureled 
poet  band: 

But  oh!  I  love  the  singers  of  our  own  Cana- 
dian land. 

The  eager  years  await  to  crown  with  stars 
their  younger  brows, 

And  proudly  weave  about  their  names  the 
myrtle  and  the  rose. 

They  sing  of  dear,  familiar  things  in  meas- 
ures wildly  sweet, 

Like  bird-songs  in  our  native  woods  when 
night  and  morning  meet. 

But  not  alone  these  home-born  themes — wide 
as  the  universe, 

As  high  as  Heaven,  as  deep  as  death,  the  lim- 
its of  their  verse. 


There's     Lampman,     Campbell,     Carman, 
Scott,  there's  Crawford,  Watson,  Rand, 

With  others,  who  have  climbed  the  heights 
and  in  the  starshine  stand; 
[68] 


A  LITTLE  BIT  OF  VERSE 

A  kinship  sweet  with  them  I  claim  as  softly 

they  rehearse — 
Lifting  me  skyward,  too,  awhile — a  little  bit 

of  verse. 


[69] 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

(A  Tale  of  Two  Cities) 

SYDNEY  CARTON,  so  far  as  we  know,  is  a  fictitious  char- 
acter— a  creation  of  Charles  Dickens'  wonderfully  prolific 
brain.  Yet  after  all,  how  very  real  he  is!  And  how 
strongly  his  splendid  heroism  appeals  to  the  noblest  in- 
stincts we  possess!  The  Great  War  is  revealing  many 
"Sydney  Cartons"  to-day — men  whose  lives  have  seemed 
to  be  failures,  who  have  never  been  able  to  rise  above 
environment,  circumstance,  or  heredity;  or  who,  for  lack 
of  sufficiently  inspiring  motive,  have  never  amounted  to 
anything  worth  while.  But  when  the  great  call  came, 
with  no  fuss  or  ostentation,  with  no  consciousness  of  hero- 
ism, they  quietly  stepped  into  line  and  "marched  breast 
forward."  In  so  doing  they  have  caught  the  "vision 
splendid,"  and  inspired  by  its  light  have  done  heroic 
things,  and  laid  down  their  lives,  where  "In  Flanders' 
fields  the  poppies  blow  between  the  crosses,  row  on  row." 

And  so,  to  all  the  "Sydney  Cartons"  of  the  world,  of 
whatever  name  or  race — men  who  from  apparent  failure 
have  risen  to  sublime  heights  of  self-sacrifice — these  lines 
are  reverently  inscribed. 

THE  hour  has  come.     His  courage  does 
not  falter; 

His  smile  lights  up  the  gloom, 
As  forth  to  lay  his  life  upon  love's  altar 
He  steps  to  meet  his  doom. 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

In  thought  he   views  his   friend  to   safety 
pressing, 

To  home  and  love  and  peace 
Fast  hastening  on — so  free,  so  little  guessing 

The  price  of  his  release. 

He  thinks  of  Lucie — was  it  vain  to  love  her 
With  love  more  strong  than  life  ? 

May  holy  angels  spread  their  wings  above 

her,  . 

And  bear  her  from  the  strife ! 

He  thinks  of  Lucie's  child;  and  tender  feel- 
ing 

Wells  up  in  unshed  tears. 
Across  the  gloom  a  vision  fair  comes  steal- 
ing— 
A  vision  of  the  years 

Far  distant,  when  that  name  may  shine  with 
glory 

That  yet  no  fame  has  won, 
And  loving  lips  will  tell  the  boy  his  story 

Whose  race  is  all  but  run. 

[71] 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

They  bind  his  arms;  they  leave  him  in  the 

dimness  ; 

They  do  not  guess  his  name, 
Nor  dream  how,   courting  death  in  all  its 

grimness, 
This  hero  plays  the  game. 

A  little  seamstress,  fair  and  young  and  slen- 
derr— 

What  could  she  know  of  guile? — 
Offers  a  greeting,  timid-voiced  and  tender, 

A  wan,  pathetic  smile. 

"What  traitorous  thoughts  could  they  have 

feared  me  thinking? 
What  plots  could  such  as  I 
Have    dreamed    or    dared?     Yet    I    would 

meet  unshrinking 
My  death,  since  I  must  die. 

"I  am  so  small  and  weak" — her  low  tone 
alters, 

Her  startled  eyes  grow  dim 
With  sudden  mist  of  feeling  as  she  falters, 

"Stranger,  you  die  for  him?" 

[72] 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

uYes,  and  his  wife  and  child,"  he  whispers, 

folding 

Her  small,  thin  fingers  fast. 
"Oh,  let  me  then  your  strong,  brave  hand  be 

holding!" 
He  answers,  "Till  the  last." 

All  in  the  blue  and  sunny  summer  weather, 

Amid  a  heartless  throng, 
They  take  the  last,  the  awful  ride  together — 

The  way  will  not  be  long. 

He  recks  not  that  the  countless  hordes  stand 
gazing 

Unmoved  upon  that  sight. 
He  only  sees  those  trustful  eyes  upraising 

To  his  their  limpid  light. 

He  recks  not  that  a  myriad  voices  murmur, 

A  myriad  footsteps  press. 
He  only  holds  her  slender  fingers  firmer 

In  meek  and  mute  caress. 

[73] 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

Bending  his  head  to  meet  her  gaze  confiding, 
Some  thought  of  cheer  to  give, 

He  whispers  softly  of  the  peace  abiding 
Where  radiant  angels  live. 

Her  eyes  beam  clear;  her  shrinking  heart 

grows  braver, 

And  calm  her  quivering  breath. 
Her  thoughts  are  fixed  on  Him  Who  died  to 

save  her 
From  everlasting  death. 

Thus  voice   to   voice,   each  comforting  the 
other, 

Yes,  even  heart  to  heart, 
Two  children  of  the  universal  Mother, 

That  else  were  wide  apart, 

All  in  the  blue  and  sunny  summer  weather, 

Earth's  shadows  nearly  past, 
Have  met  to  take  the  homeward  way  to- 
gether, 

And  find  a  rest  at  last. 

[74] 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

The   rumbling  tumbrils   stop.     They  pause 

unf  earing; 

A  light  is  in  each  face. 
What  should  they  dread — two  humble  spir- 
its nearing 
The  soul's  abiding-place? 

"One    question   more" — her    eyes    are    dim 
with  wonder( — 

"One  friend  I  have  most  dear. 
Will  it  seem  long  that  we  two  walk  asunder, 

Until  she  meet  me  there?" 

"Fear  not,  dear  child!     There  are  no  sad 

to-morrows, 

No  partings  there,  no  night. 
They  leave  behind  their  burdens  and  their 

sorrows 
Who  pass  the  gates  of  light." 

"You  comfort  me — and  is  it  now  I  kiss  you?" 

Smiling  he  whispers,  "Yes. 
Until  we  meet  at  yonder  gate,   God  bless 
you!"— 

Their  lips  together  press. 

[751 


SYDNEY  CARTON 

The  tender  maiden  does  not  faint  nor  falter 

The  short,  sharp  way  to  take : 
And  Sydney  Carton  lays  upon  the  altar 

His  life  for  love's  sweet  sake. 

"I  am  the  resurrection,"  He  that  liveth 

Forevermore  hath  said, 
"I  am  the  life :  whoso  my  word  receiveth 

Shall  live  though  he  were  dead." 


[76] 


A  SMILE  FROM  YOU 

A   SMILE  from  you  is  all  I  ask 
To  glorify  my  daily  task. 
The  skies  may  weep,  the  winds  may  wail, 
All  outward  founts  of  joy  may  fail, 
All  costlier  graces  be  denied — 
The  morn  for  me  is  beautified. 

For  just  a  smile  from  you  may  bring 
The  birds  and  blossoms  of  the  spring 
Within  my  heart  to  sing  and  bloom; 
May  scatter  sunbeams  round  my  room; 
May  touch  the  fringes  of  the  mist 
And  turn  its  gray  to  amethyst. 

Throughout  the  hours,  it  well  may  be, 
Your  thoughts  not  oft  will  stray  to  me. 
Not  many  words  I  ask  of  you 
From  morningshine  till  evening  dew. 
But  as  you  pass  me  on  your  way, 
Give  me  a  sunny  smile  to-day. 


BY  WIRELESS 

YOUR  hand  and  mine  have  never  touched 
in  greeting, 

Our  eyes  have  never  met: 
Your  voice  is  still  to  me  an  unknown  music, 

Heard  but  in  dreams — and  yet 
Your  written  words  have  blest  me,  cheered 

me,  thrilled  me, 
And  lit  the  beacon  fires 
Of  strong  resolve,  and  lofty  aspiration, 
And  noblest  of  desires. 

What  matter  though  a  thousand  miles  divide 

us? 

A  thousand  miles — 'tis  naught! 
For  kindred  souls  may  converse  by  the  wire- 
less 
Telegraphy  of  thought. 


BY  WIRELESS 

Upon   my   mountain-top    I   catch   the   mes- 
sage 

That  cometh  from  afar, 
And  coming  thrills  my  universe  with  music 

Beyond  its  farthest  star. 


It  tells  me  that  the  good,  the  true,  the  lovely, 

Life's  well-refined  gold, 
If  I  am  strong  of  heart  to  seek  and  find  it, 

Is  mine  to  have  and  hold. 
My  spirit  calls  across  the  starry  vastness 

And  answers:    Even  so — 
Come  joy  or  pain,  come  shade  or  shine  or 
tempest, 

I  will,  I  will  be  true. 


O  friend  unseen,  whose  hope  my  hope  hath 
kindled, 

Whose  strength  hath  made  me  strong, 
Be  thine  the  rich  reward  of  high  endeavor, 

Life's  fruitful  years  along. 

[79] 


BY  WIRELESS 

Be  thine  the  magic  melody  that  floateth 

Adown  the  hills  of  dream ! 
Be  thine — and  mine — to  follow,  follow  star- 
ward 

The  glory  of  the  Gleam. 


[80] 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 

THE    summer   sun  lay   golden    on   the 
mountain, 

And  soft  about  us  blew 
The  elfin  winds,  the  wild,  free  winds,  that 

morning 
I  wandered  there  with  you. 

As  up  and  up  to  higher  levels  tending 

We  slowly  passed  along, 
Upon  the  slippery  steeps  I  did  not  waver — 

Your  hand  was  firm  and  strong. 

We  gained  the  heights.     The  all-encircling 

vastness 

Our  quickening  pulses  thrilled. 
With  all  the  glory,  all  the  wordless  wonder, 
Our  kindred  souls  were  filled. 
[81] 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 

Above  us  and  around  us  stretched  the  heav- 
ens, 

And  far  and  far  away, 
In  misty,  opalescent  shadows  melting, 

The  dim  horizon  lay. 

Up  from  the  town,  to  mellow  music  softened, 

There  rose  a  murmurous  din, 
As  o'er  the  waves,  wind-kissed  and  sunbeam- 
silvered, 

We  watched  the  boats  come  in. 

But  longer  than  the  fair  and  pleasant  pic- 
ture, 

In  sunlight  round  us  spread, 
Within  my  heart  will  live  the  vibrant  music 

Of  gracious  words  you  said: 

"We  may  not  reach  the  goal  of   our   en- 
deavor 

Before  the  sun  goes  down; 
Yet  you  and  I  will  upward  press,  and  ever 

Be  worthy  of  our  crown. 

[82] 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 

"No  toil  is  lost,  no  energy  is  wasted, 

Our  striving  is  not  vain, 
E'en  though  we  win  no  shining  wreath  of  lau- 
rel, 

No  proud,  far  heights  attain. 

"They  are  not  dead,  the  seeds  of  hope  we 

scattered 

Along  the  barren  years, 
Though  yet  there  springs  no  blossom  of  re- 
joicing, 
No  golden  fruit  appears. 

"Not  in  the  prize,  though  lovely  and  allur- 
ing, 

Our  best  reward  must  be. 
Is  not  the  strength  that  comes  alone  from 

struggle 
Enough  for  you  and  me? 

"Enough  to  have  uplifted  by  our  message 

One  life  for  one  brief  hour; 
Out  of  one  heart  a  weed  to  have  uprooted, 

And  planted  there  a  flower; 
[83] 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TOP 

"Enough  if  we  a  helping  hand  have  given, 
Have  strengthened  faltering  feet, 

Have  shed  about  us  ever  the  aroma 
Of  kindness  rare  and  sweet." 

Enough !  and  yet  the  distant  beacons  beckon, 

The  shining  steeps  allure. 
We    long    to    breathe — the    impulse    is    of 
Heaven — 

Those  airs  serene  and  pure; 

To  stand  beside  the  noble  souls  who  con- 
quered, 

Who  would  not  be  downcast, 
Who,  after  all  the  heartache  and  the  failures, 

Have  won  success  at  last. 

Some  day — who  knows? — after  the  toil  and 

patience, 

The  conflict  long  and  tense, 
There  yet  may  come  to  us  life's  crowning 

glory 
Of  richest  recompense. 

[84] 


THE  NOONDAY  CHIMES 

OUT  o'er  the  snowy  city  roofs  at  noon, 
Out  o'er  the  home,  the  market  and  the 

street, 

With  solemn  intonation  floats  a  prayer — 
A  lyric  strain,  melodious  and  sweet. 

A  message  in  that  mellow  music  rings. 

Far-flung  upon  the  wind  it  peals  and  swells, 
With  sweet  reiteration  day  by  day, 

From  vibrant,  silver-tongued  cathedral 
bells. 

"Lift  up  your  hearts  to  God!" — the  strain 

sublime 
With  pulsing,  rhythmic  cadence  throbs  and 

thrills, 

While  listening  hearts  turn,  silent,  Heaven- 
ward, 

And  longing  eyes  are  lifted  to  the  hills. 
[85] 


THE  NOONDAY  CHIMES 

O  let  that  music  sink  in  every  soul ! 

O  let  it  echo  far  across  the  sea, 
And  breathe  amid  the  discord,  fierce  and  wild, 

A  tuneful,  tender  prayer  from  you  and  me ! 

"Lift  up  your  hearts!" — uWe  lift  them  to 

the  Lord"— 
Our  longings  heavenward  waft  on  music's 

wing. 
God  give  us  peace  that  blossoms  bright  from 

tears, 
God  save  our  valiant  men,  our  noble  King ! 


[86] 


MOTHER  OF  MINE 

npHERE  shines  no  pearl  in  the  deep,  deep 
A  sea, 

Mother  of  mine, 
So  fair,  so  rare  as  your  love  to  me, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


The   stars   may  wane,   and  the   sun   grow 
pale, 

Mother  of  mine; 
I  know  that  never  your  love  shall  fail, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


My  wayward  feet  in  the  far-off  days, 

Mother  of  mine, 
You  led  in  ever  the  safest  ways, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


MOTHER  OF  MINE 


The  sweetest  truths  that  a  child  may  know, 

Mother  of  mine, 
Your  voice  instilled  in  the  long  ago, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


You  taught  me  praise  and  you  taught  me 
prayer, 

Mother  of  mine; 
And  a  simple  faith  in  a  Father's  care, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


You  bade  me  rise  from  the  common  clod, 

Mother  of  mine, 
To  purer  heights  on  the  hills  of  God, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


You  taught  me  love  for  the  finer  things, 

Mother  of  mine; 
I  drank  of  joy  from  the  secret  springs, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 
[88] 


MOTHER  OF  MINE 

I've  wandered  forth  in  the  world  afar, 

Mother  of  mine. 
Your  truth  was  ever  my  polar  star, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


God's  loving-kindness  each  morn  is  new, 

Mother  of  mine> — 
I  thank  Him  most  that  He  gave  me  you, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


Your  children  arise  and  call  you  blest, 

Mother  of  mine, 
Our  dearest  treasure,  the  sweetest,  best — 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 


This  wreath  I  weave   for  your  crowning, 
dear, 

Mother  of  mine, 
God  bless  you,  keep  you  for  many  a  year, 

Mother,  mother  of  mine. 

[89] 


QTHER  POETRY 

YOU    WOULD 


ENJOY  READING 


135] 


SOLDIER 
SONGS 

BY 

PATRICK  MACGILL 

Author  of  "Children  of  the  Dead  End,"  etc. 


In  the  trenches  a  man  expresses  himself 
by  his  occupations.  Some  make  aluminum 
rings  from  the  fuses  of  German  shells,  oth- 
ers carve  in  wood,  but  Rifleman  Patrick 
MacGill  mostly  writes.  He  found  in  a 
poem  about  the  fairies,  for  instance,  the  best 
sedative  during  a  heavy  shelling  of  the 
British  lines.  Almost  without  exception 
the  poems  in  this  volume  were  written 
under  fire,  and  many  of  them  deal  with  the 
everyday  events  of  a  soldier's  life.  Mr. 
MacGill  has  also  written  an  interesting 
foreword  telling  of  the  songs  that  most  ap- 
peal to  the  men  at  the  front. 

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Ttuo  BooA^  of  *Poe1ryfor  Mothers 

Feelings  and  Things 

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Under  the  titles  "Happy  Ones,"  "Wistful 
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The  poems  are  also  singularly  well  suited  for 
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Songs  of  a  Mother 

BY 

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Illustrated  in  black  and  white  by  the  Author 

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The  deepest  feelings  which  the  realization  of 
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POEMS  BY 

EVELYN  UNDERBILL 

The  Historian  and  Poet  of  Mysticism 

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Mysticism,  The  Mystic  Way,  etc. 

Immanence :  A  Book  of  verses 

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There  is  solace  and  refreshment  in  these 
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Ghree   BooA^j   of    Verse   by 
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BOYS  AND  GIRLS 

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TALES  OF  THE  TRAIL 

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